


The Right of the First Night

by madwriter223



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, In-Laws, Insults, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Tension, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2018-02-13 10:02:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2146590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madwriter223/pseuds/madwriter223
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>-Kink Meme- This certainly wasn't what Legolas had expected when he and Gimli had been summoned to the throne room after their wedding feast. His father invoking the Right of the First Night hadn't even crossed his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Right of the First Night

“You must be joking.” Legolas said, face pale with shock. At his side, Gimli looked just as shaken. This certainly wasn't what he'd expected when he and Gimli had been summoned to the throne room after their wedding feast. His father invoking the Right of the First Night hadn't even crossed his mind. “Father, please say this is a crude jest brought on by too much wine.”

Thranduil narrowed his eyes slightly. “I am not asking as your father, I am ordering you as your King.”

Legolas flushed with outrage. “That law hasn't been practised in millennia!”

“I demand it nonetheless. You would deny me? Me, whose blessing you need for this union to be considered valid?” Gimli's eyes widened.

“I would deny the Valar themselves!” Legolas hissed, hands clenching into fists.

“Take care how you speak to me, Legolas Greenleaf.” Thranduil said, standing tall and regal. “Remember what happens to those that defy their King.”

“We shall not defy you, your Majesty.” Gimli said suddenly, halting Legolas's angry reply. 

Said elf turned astonished eyes towards him. “Gimli, yes we shall.” He said firmly, and the dwarf narrowed his eyes stubbornly. 

“Your Majesty, may I request a few minutes with my husband?” he asked respectfully.

“A few minutes only.” Thranduil inclined his head and Gimli dragged his elf aside.

“Gimli, you do not have to do this.” Legolas protested immediately, laying his hands on the dwarf's shoulders. “I will not allow him to besmirch you.”

“I am not a child for you to fret over my innocence.” Gimli pointed out.

“It is not your innocence I'm protecting.” The elf looked stricken, as if the skies themselves had betrayed him.

The dwarf firmed his resolve. “Legolas. It is my decision as well. I will do as the King requests.”

“Gimli-”

“Do not fight me on this, laddie. Please.” Legolas looked at him beseechingly, helplessly. Gimli smiled at him softly and grabbed a fistful of soft blond locks. He pulled the elf down for a kiss, then pressed their foreheads together. “Wait for me in our rooms. I will go there after it is done.”

“Gimli, my beloved, please don't do this.” Legolas's voice trembled. “He is drunk, it matters not what he says.”

“A drunk king is still a king. I will not have you banished from your kith and kin. I will not have you forced to walk alone after I am gone.”

Legolas pursed his lips into a tight line and hugged the dwarf tightly. “I will do as you wish, meleth nîn.” He straightened, and gave one last hateful look at the King. He stalked off with his hands clenched into fists, his body shaking with repressed anger. 

Gimli noticed Thranduil saying something to a nearby guard, who nodded and walked off after Legolas. Gimli hoped that it was an order to keep his husband from leaving their rooms. He wouldn't survive if Legolas walked in on them during the act.

This was certainly not how Gimli had envisioned his Mirkwood wedding.

*~*

Gimli followed the King to his bed chambers, body tense and heart thrumming in his chest. The doors fell shut behind him with a dull thud, and he nearly flinched at the noise. Thranduil didn't say a word, just sauntered over to his over-large bed and sat down on it gracefully. He stared at the dwarf with cold eyes, and Gimli fervently wished for something to cover himself with. He was wearing only the thin elven tunic and trousers Legolas had commissioned for him to wear during their Mirkwood wedding. It had seemed like fair trade as Legolas had worn dwarvish ceremonial attire and armour during their wedding in Erebor. He sincerely regretted not giving in and having their wedding night then and there. But he had stubbornly wanted their first coupling as husbands to be valid in the eyes of both Mahal and Manwë, after both weddings. This perhaps wouldn't feel so horrible if he had given in then.

Thranduil was still looking at him like at a piece of meat being drained of blood on a butcher's hook, and Gimli shivered despite himself. He longed for the familiar weight of his armour – the flimsy elven clothing made him feel practically bare.

“You are like an ogre.” Thranduil said suddenly, curling his upper lip slightly.

Gimli kept his face impassive and refrained from commenting. He had not attended those lessons of diplomacy for nothing. He was of Durin stock and he would behave with dignity no matter the situation.

Thranduil huffed through his nose and leaned back slightly. “Most of you dwarves are. Whenever your kind travels by I can hear you stomping and bumbling around since the moment you enter my woods. You have no respect for the flora of the world. You take no care of the animals you meet. You just boulder through, waving your little axes around. What makes you so intriguing then?”

Gimli said nothing. He kept his back straight and his eyes forward.

Thranduil looked him up and down, then raised one hand, beckoning him closer. “Stand before me and take off your tunic. I wish to inspect you.”

Gimli swallowed thickly and stepped forward. He untied the lacing on his shirt and tugged it off over his head. His skin broke out into goosebumps in the cool air of the room, but he resisted the urge to rub his arms.

Thranduil stared at his front coldly, blinking slowly. Then he reached out and grabbed Gimli's beard, giving it a brief tug. “You dwarves prize your beards, don't you?”

“Aye, Sire.” He tried to ignore how the king's fingers inspected his wedding beads.

“You consider this” Another tug. “Attractive?”

“Aye, Sire.”

Thranduil mm-ed thoughtfully. “And yours?”

Gimli swallowed at the tone. “I was told mine is considered to be... unusually grand.”

Thranduil raised an eyebrow. “Look how vain you are.” He said, his cold tone mocking.

Gimli didn't comment about the vanity he had observed in elves.

The King threaded his fingers through the thick beard, tugging on the braids and playing with the beads. “And if I were to order you to shave all of this... hair _off_.” He said conversationally, and Gimli shuddered at the mere thought.

“You cannot.” He said harshly, then reigned himself in with a mental curse. He was of Durin blood, he would stay unmoved like the mountain. “You cannot, your Majesty. To warrant such a punishment I would have to commit a grave offence. To shave off a beard on a whim is unthinkable by the laws of Mahal himself.”

“Oh really?” The bushy eyebrow rose again.

Gimli swallowed thickly. “There is no greater shame and dishonour to a Dwarf than to lose their beard.”

Thranduil stared at him coldly, with no visible trace of emotion. Then his nose wrinkled and he removed his hand from the thick beard.

Gimli almost sighed in relief.

“Move that thing out of the way so I may see your chest.” The king commanded. Gimli pursed his lips angrily, thankful that his whiskers hid his true expression, and obeyed. He gathered up his beard with both hands, and lifted it up and over one shoulder. He felt the urge to lift it up onto his face, to hide. But he refused to show any weakness before the king. So over the shoulder it stayed.

Thranduil's upper lip curled at Gimli's torso. “Hair everywhere.” He murmured dispassionately. “You truly are akin to a beast.”

Gimli's face flushed at the insult, but he remained silent.

Thranduil blinked slowly, then placed one hand on Gimli's chest. He moved it unhurriedly, nails scratching at each of the dwarf's nipples. “Only two? I would've thought there would be six.” he murmured, expression disinterested. He placed both palms against the dwarf's pectorals and squeezed firmly. Gimli jumped minutely at the sudden pressure, and Thranduil's lips twisted into a smirk. Gimli clenched his teeth tightly and stared straight ahead. He refused to react when the elf started pressing at the flesh on his chest, squeezing painfully around the nipples. He bit his lip when the king twisted the left one, but didn't make a sound.

“Meaty.” Thranduil remarked, sounding amused. “Are all dwarves like this?” He cocked his head to the side. “Meaty and hairy.”

Gimli swallowed and forced his voice not to waver. “To my knowledge, yes, sire.”

“Even Thorin?” It was asked quietly, almost in a whisper.

That surprised him. And he knew immediately which Thorin the king meant. “I don't remember him well. I was young when he died.” He wetted his dry lips with the tip of his tongue. “But I assume he might've been slimmer. Food had been scarce then.”

Thranduil's lips twisted in thought. His hands stayed on Gimli's chest a few minutes more, then moved lower. Gimli pursed his lips and focused on not shivering. He stood stock still while Thranduil pressed his palms against his front and his sides. He stubbornly didn't fidget when the elven king kneaded at his front and sides, as if inspecting the muscles there. He held his breath when the questing fingers reached his trousers. They tapped against the material, and Thranduil sniffed. “Take these off.” He ordered, moving his hands and laying them in his lap.

A cold chill ran down Gimli's back, but he had no choice. He released his beard, feeling slightly better now that it covered his chest again. He moved back and toed off his soft slippers, then pulled his trousers down his hips. They fell to the floor, pooling around his ankles, and Gimli stepped out of them. He left them on the floor and stood straight. He moved his hands behind himself slightly, trying to hide that they were trembling.

It felt as if insects were crawling beneath his skin. He ignored the feeling and returned to his spot before the king.

Thranduil raised one bushy eyebrow and snorted derisively. “You even braid your lower hair?”

Gimli swallowed down the wave of humiliation. “This is my wedding night.” He pointed out. “It is tradition to look your best.”

Thranduil huffed in amusement, and tapped one of the beads with one long finger. “Tradition is important to you, isn't it?”

“Aye, Sire.”

“What do you think of spending your wedding night with me, and not Legolas.” It was more of a mocking statement than a cruel question.

Gimli had to close his eyes at the mention of his husband. He took a deep breath to steady himself, then looked Thranduil straight in the face. “By marrying Legolas, I swore obedience to his King, just as he swore his obedience to mine.” He paused, letting that sink in. “I will obey your decree.”

Thranduil gave him a long cold look, then sat back. “Good. I wish to see you erect. Use your hand.”

Gimli stared at him, face paling.

Thranduil smirked, and cocked his head to the side. “Or will you disobey your King?”

“No, Sire.” Gimli forced out and reached towards his cock. He wrapped his fingers around the shaft, and paused. He cleared his thoughts and began to slowly move his hand from base to tip. He continued the motion for several minutes, squeezing around the head and rubbing his thumb against the underside.

There was nothing. No reaction whatsoever. There was no blood stirring under his touch, no thickness adding to the girth. Absolutely no reaction.

He wasn't that surprised, truth be told. He tried to ignore the gaze he felt on his skin. He tried to concentrate on his own touch. He failed on both accounts. He thought longingly of Legolas and his teasing touches and loving kisses. Then Thranduil made a disgusted sound and Gimli went even more limp, if that was even possible.

“Pathetic. Can you even get an erection?”

Gimli declined to answer, still holding himself with trembling fingers. He felt cold all over.

“Useless.” Thranduil huffed and stood. “Get on the bed. Hands and knees.” He walked over to a cabinet and opened it. Gimli saw him selecting a small bottle and steeled himself for what was about to come. He could guess what the king was getting.

He swallowed audibly and climbed onto the bed. He set his body into the requested position and waited. He was almost prepared for the touch of a hand on his back.

“Like a pelt.” Thranduil remarked, petting his back hair firmly. “Even your buttocks are covered. What _is_ the appeal to you?”

Gimli didn't know whether or not he was even required to answer that.

The touch moved down his back and to his rear, and Gimli clenched his hands tightly against the bed-covers. Thranduil placed both hands against his buttocks and pressed his fingers against the flesh, just as he had done to his chest. He squeezed and pulled uncomfortably for a few moments, then made an impressed noise.

“Firm.” He said, as if he was praising the dwarf. Gimli closed his eyes and pushed down his urge to lash out. He never did enjoy this position, even with Legolas. He wasn't going to say anything to the king, though. He just had to get through this night and he could return to his beloved. To his husband.

Thranduil's cool hand slid between his legs, cupping the furry testicles. He lifted them slightly, bouncing them against his fingers as if he was weighing them. One long finger scratched at the underside of his limp cock, and Gimli couldn't contain a shudder.

“So you do feel something here after all.” Thranduil said drily. Gimli bit his lip.

Thranduil stood still for a moment, then huffed. He let go of Gimli's body and grabbed the bottle of oil he had taken from the cabinet. He uncorked it and spread the thick substance across his fingers. 

“Reach back and hold your buttocks apart. I want you open.” Gimli pushed down his urge to curse and or vomit, and grabbed one cheek, pulling it to the side.

“Both hands.” Thranduil said impatiently. “Lay your chest on the bed.”

Gimli obeyed, his skin breaking out in goosebumps again. This position was much worse. His head was down against the bed, his rump was in the air and spread wide by his own hands, and the urge to vomit was much more difficult to resist.

He cringed when a single finger was placed against his anus. Thranduil had lost most of his patience, it seemed, and just pushed the entire digit in to the last knuckle in one forceful push.

Gimli flinched away slightly despite himself.

“Stay still.” The king commanded harshly, and Gimli bit down on the bedding, bracing himself.

Thranduil stayed still for a bit, just staring at the dwarf's opening. He drew his finger back slightly, and pushed it downwards, spreading the skin a bit. He stared again, then thrust his finger back inside sharply. He performed a series of sharp jabs, watching the dwarf for any reactions. When there were none, he added a second finger. He didn't give the dwarf any time to get used to the added intrusion, and continued the sharp rhythm. He spread his fingers for a bit, watching as the puckered skin stretched, but mostly pushed them in and out in quick succession.

The dwarf made a low grunt from time to time, but obediently held his position.

Thranduil pulled his fingers out till only the first knuckles remained inside. Next he added the tip of a third finger. He wiggled them a bit to make sure they wouldn't slip out and spread them out. Two to the sides and one downwards, as much as they would go. He lowered his head so that he could look inside the stretched passage. He kept looking for a long time, Gimli thought, pressing his face to the covers. The crawling sensation beneath his skin was back.

Then the fingers were yanked out of him and Thranduil walked away.

“Get out.” the king said flatly, sitting down in an armchair by an open window.

Gimli obeyed instantly, eager to leave. He grabbed his thin tunic and trousers, nearly jumping into them before heading straight for the doors. He didn't even bother with his footwear.

“Goodnight, my King.” He forced himself to say, then hurried out of the room.

The dwarf headed straight towards his and Legolas's rooms, holding his head high all the way down the long winding corridors. It took him a short time to arrive, and he didn't even spare a glance at the guard stationed in front of the doors (so Thranduil did send him to keep watch on Legolas). He pushed the doors open and marched inside, letting them fall shut behind him.

The whole room was in a disarray. The furniture had been flipped over, items and dishes lay smashed across the floor or against walls. The curtains had been ripped off and lay strewn across the room, along with the bedding.

In the middle of the chaos stood his husband, furiously stuffing their clothes into their travelling packs.

Gimli stared at him. “Legolas? What are you doing?”

“Packing.” Legolas replied, expression tight with tension. “We are not staying here a moment longer than we have to.” He grabbed Gimli's books and stuffed them into the side pocket. “I've already sent for Arod to be saddled.”

Gimli rubbed his temple. He had a low-grade headache pulsing behind his eyes. “Laddie, you are being dramatic. Your father-”

“That monster is not my father.” Legolas hissed, face twisted with rage.

Gimli swallowed and rubbed his arms. His skin still felt chilly. “All right. Thranduil didn't go through with it in the end, so there is no need to be upset.” Legolas stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. Perhaps he had. “Unpack those bags, laddie, and lets forget this whole ridiculousness.”

Legolas let the pack fall from his fingers and walked over to the dwarf.

“Is that really what you want?” Gimli nodded. “No, you will tell me.” Legolas fell to his knees in front of his husband. “Look me in the eye and tell me. I want the truth from your heart, Gimli. If you truly see no problem with what he had demanded of us, _of you_ , we will stay. I will endure not killing him, and we can pretend nothing happened.” Legolas swallowed thickly, and gave a trembling smile. “Do you truly want to stay here? Tell me, âzyung.”

Gimli startled at hearing the Khuzdul word and stared at his husband. He swallowed thickly, and closed his eyes. He tried to ignore the phantom feeling of fingers on his chest and hips and back, or the memory of Thranduil's mocking words. He tried imagining having to sit at meals with the king, and to pretend his skin wasn't crawling. All the while Thranduil would stare at him with those same cold eyes, he just knew it. He felt a nauseous tightness in the pit of his stomach at the mere thought.

“No.” He admitted quietly, more to himself than to anyone else. “I don't want to stay.”

“Then we won't. We'll leave.” Legolas placed his hands on Gimli's shoulders and leaned closer. He touched their foreheads together and the dwarf sighed softly. “I thought we might go to our land. The one we'd been gifted on the slope of the Lonely Mountain. We can camp there in peace, no one will bother us.”

“That sounds lovely, meleth nîn.” Gimli said, smiling at the thought. “And we'll argue more about what kind of house we'll build.”

Legolas chuckled and pressed a kiss to Gimli's cheek. The dwarf tried not to notice how the elf's lips trembled. “I know we agreed most of the house would be carved out in the rock or built with wooden walls. However I still say building a single room up in a tree would not be that horrid.”

“It wouldn't be, but I believe you are planning on that room being our bedroom.” Gimli pointed out teasingly and walked over to his wardrobe. He disrobed from the elven clothing and grabbed his leathers and armour. He needed to not feel naked anymore.

“I promise to place it on a low level branch.” Legolas responded, staring worriedly at his husband's broad back. He wondered if Gimli was even aware that he was trembling? 

As he watched, Gimli lifted his leather shirt and just... stopped. He stood unmoving in the middle of the wardrobe, the shirt held in a white-knuckled grip. Gimli made no move to put it on, just stared sightlessly forward. A shudder passed across his shoulders and his breathing hitched.

Legolas abandoned his packing again and went to his beloved. He crouched down next to him and wrapped his arms tightly around Gimli's chest. He tucked his face against Gimli's neck and just held on tight, giving what support he could.

Legolas didn't say a word when Gimli's breath turned shaky and tears began falling from his eyes. He shifted his grip when Gimli turned and pressed himself tightly against the elf's chest. Legolas just wrapped his arms around his back and held his beloved tightly.

They left within the next hour. Neither one of them looked back.

End

 

* âzyung = Love in Khuzdul

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt (I did not exactly follow it to the letter):  
> As a prince of Mirkwood, Legolas cannot marry Gimli without the king's permission, but he is fairly confident his father would not stand in the way of his happiness. Therefore, it's quite a shock for him when Thranduil invokes his right of the first night (something he has never done in a span of his entire reign, not until now) at their wedding ceremony - and once spoken, the king's will is indisputable.  
> So, after the wedding Gimli, who has no idea what to expect (the dwarves only take one lover in their lifetime, usually their spouse) but is willing to suffer through any strange elven customs to be with Legolas, is taken to Thranduil's bedchamber while Legolas is dragged away kicking and screaming (and then locked in their own room) to wait for Gimli's return. Still, it soon becomes apparent that Thranduil has no intention of forcing himself on his new son-in-law; he is, however, very curious about Gimli's body and about dwarven sexuality - and he is wallowing in regrets about missing his chance with Thorin Oakenshield, back in the Third Age. Sure, he is attempting to seduce the dwarf into his bed, but it's a half-hearted attempt at best, and if Gimli plays his cards right he should be able to return to his husband with his honor intact...  
> ...Or not. I'll just leave that for the potential author to decide. ;)


End file.
